oOo

Paul Temple returned to the Hotel Laurent around eight thirty that evening. His mood, though still sombre and worried, had brightened a little during the course of the evening. He was starting to become interested in this affair. If only because it would save him from going crazy with worry over Steve. It probably wasn't fair to her if he were to take on a case now, but the thought that he was helping to bring the man who'd done this to her to justice helped soothe his conscience.

As he ascended in the elevator to the floor where his room was located, Paul started to plan his next steps. He wasn't sure how far he could rely on the local police force to help him with his inquiries and in any case it would probably be wiser to ask Sir Graham for the background information he sought. If the papers in England had indeed picked up the story of the shooting, his friend would probably be quite worried. Steve and his daughter got along well and the chief commissioner had also taken a liking to Steve. Steve had a habit of inspiring that response in people. Paul thought back to their first meeting at his country house in Bramley, sobering instantly at the memory.

As far as Steve was concerned, it had never happened. Steve was strong, but he couldn't imagine how frightened and confused she must be right now, having not only to deal with her injury and the news that she had lost five years of her life, but also having the lose her brother all over again, all in the span of less than thirty minutes. No wonder she had asked him to leave her alone! Still, the dismissal had hurt him even as he understood intellectually. He wanted, needed to be there for her, but what was he to do if she didn't want him there? What if she never again wanted him at her side? Paul's grim thoughts were interrupted when the elevator reached its destination. He had not yet reached his room when a page boy caught up with him.

"Mr Temple, sir!"

"Yes, what is it?"

"A cable's just arrived for you from England," the page handed Paul the telegram. He tore it open and quickly scanned its contents to judge if a reply was in order.

"There will be no reply," he finally said, thanked and tipped the page who quickly retreated again. Paul shoved the cable into the pocket of his coat and proceeded to his room.

Taking off his hat and stripping himself of his coat, Paul tossed both aside rather carelessly, a gesture that Steve would surely disapprove of were she there to witness it.

The cable had been from Sir Graham Forbes, chief commissioner of police back home at Scotland Yard. After the inquiry by Detective Harrington, it hadn't been too surprised that the story of the shooting had made the papers in time for the evening editions. Naturally, Sir Graham was concerned for Steve, as well as Temple and was offering his help should the couple need it. Paul intended to avail himself of that offer soon, he was merely going to wait until it was daytime again in England. Until then, he decided, he might as well try and get some rest, as it had been over 36 hours by now since he'd any real sleep. First, however, he was going to grab a bite to eat, it having been equally long since he'd last had a proper meal. He was even started to feel slightly nauseous as a result. He didn't feel like company, so he decided to have something sent up to his room.

The sandwiches arrived in due course and while not being particularly delicious, they did the job of settling his queasy stomach a little. By the time Temple had finished and smoked one of his cigars, it was almost ten o'clock in the evening. It was however still to early to place a call to Sir Graham in London were it was now close to four in the morning.

Feeling somewhat drowsy from the alcohol and overall lack of sleep, Paul decided it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a while. He changed into his pajamas and dressing gown and settled down on top of the covers. For a while, he tried to read a book, a detective novel he'd bought shortly after his arrival in America, but his mind kept drifting, so that e eventually gave it his efforts. Intent on just closing his eyes for a second, Paul was startled awake by the ringing of the phone. He was stunned to see that it was dawning outside. Swearing softly under his breath, he got up and went to pick up the phone.

"Excuse me for disturbing you at this time of the morning, but there is a call from London for you," the porter announced apologetically.

"It's all right, I'll take it," Paul replied groggily. He waited patiently for the call to be put through. The line wasn't very good, but he could clearly recognize Sir Graham's voice at the other end.

"Temple is that you?"

"Yes, it's me, Sir Graham."

"Listen, I apologize for ringing you at this time of the morning, but I thought you should know that your flat was burgled last night."

"What exactly happened?" Paul asked, now wide awake. "Was anything stolen?"

"The whole place was turned upside down, but it doesn't seem like anything has been stolen. We got one of the burglars in custody right now, but it looks like there were two of

them and the other one got clean away."

"You certainly work quickly," Paul commented.

"Well, as it so happens, we had a little help from your man Charlie. He came home late and surprised them. He was able to lock one of them into the kitchen until the police

arrived. It's a fellow called Blake, Cecil Blake."

"I can't say that name rings a bell," Paul said.

"I'm not surprised. Mr Blake doesn't have a record and it's pretty obvious that he's no pro. He's scared out of his wits, but he won't talk."

"Because you arrested him?"

"Not exactly. He won't say why an upstanding citizen like himself decided to suddenly burgle your flat, but we found a letter on him. It seems that he was being blackmailed

into committing burglary. We don't know yet what he was being blackmailed about, but it's safe to say that whatever it is, it must be pretty terrible."

"Can you tell me how that letters reads that you found on him?"

"Why not?" There was a brief pause followed by a rustling noise. "It reads as follows:

'Be at the Blue Parrot Club at 9 o'clock tonight. A Mr Smith will contact you there. You are to follow his instructions to the letter. You'll know what will happen if you

don't.'

The letters is simply signed Xavier."

"That's interesting, that's very interesting," Paul commented. "Do you have any idea who this Smith fellow could be?"

"Yes, we think he might be one Jeremiah Adderley a thoroughly unscrupulous character known for stealing high end items to order."

"But I though you said that nothing was stolen," Paul interjected.

"Nothing as far as we know," Sir Graham confirmed. "But he must have had some reason to burgle your flat."

"Probably someone hired him," Paul conjectured.

"That's what we've been thinking," Sir Graham replied. After a pause, he added: "You wouldn't happen to know what all this is about, Temple?"

"I don't, not yet at any rate." In fact, Paul had his suspicions, but he liked to keep his cards close to his vest. At least until he was sure of all his facts.

"Be careful, Temple," Sir Graham urged, then abruptly changed the subject. "How's Steve doing?"

"She's still in hospital," Paul couldn't bring himself to tell his friend about Steve's amnesia. He wasn't quite sure why, maybe doing so would make it all too real, he supposed. "It will probably be a while before we can even think about returning to home."

"I understand."

"In the meantime, could you do me a favour? There i some information I need." Paul went on the explain exactly what he needed to know. Sir Graham promised to do the best he could and again warned the private detective to be careful, before ringing off.

oOo

Temple met Detective Harrington punctually at nine o'clock in the lounge of the Laurent Hotel. Although the amount of alcohol he'd consumed the previous night at the bar, hadn't been enough to make him really drunk (as had been his initial intent), the combination of more drink than usual and very little food had resulted in a mild hang-over. But after a shower, shave and hearty breakfast, he felt quite able to face the world. He still had no idea what was going to happened between Steve and himself. He knew he had to see her again eventually, even though she had pretty much thrown him out the last time. For now however he would content himself with assuring her safety. Detective Harrington had been somewhat reluctant, but he had eventually acceded to Paul's request of placing an officer at the hospital to stand guard over Steve.

"Good morning, Detective Harrington!" Paul greeted the NYPD man was somewhat forced cheerfulness as he spotted him enter the lounge of the hotel. The meeting had been called at the request of the detective and Paul was wondering what he wanted to talk to him about. It might be par for the course for Sir Graham to keep him in the loop about any case Paul happened to be concerned in and currently working on, but he expected no such service here in the United States.

"Good morning, Mr Temple," Harrington replied somewhat stiffly.

"What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?" Paul asked, now slightly concerned.

"Is it true that you met a man called Peter Baxter at the Cheshire Cat bar yesterday evening?"

"Yes, that's true," Paul replied cautiously. "What happened?"

"Peter Baxter was found badly beaten in an alley behind the Cheshire Cat late last night. According the the bar keeper, you two had quite the argument."

"Argument?" Paul echoed. Sure he had been somewhat short with Baxter in the beginning, but in no way had they argued.

"Yes, according to the witness, you accused Baxter of being involved in your wife's shooting and even threatened him."

"That's absolutely not true!" Paul protested, his mind going into overdrive at the same time.

"Does Baxter confirm this story?" he asked presently.

"We haven't had a chance to speak to him yet. His injuries are pretty bad. Are you saying that you didn't have an argument?" the detective asked severely.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. In fact, Baxter hired me to investigate a case for him. He wanted me to find Winifred Morris' murderer. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with the official inquiry," Paul couldn't resist that last remark, observing carefully the effect it had on the NYPD detective.

"It's true that we've spoken to Baxter on several occasions during the investigation," Harrington relented. "And it's also true that he's been pretty vocal about his misgivings with our investigation, but even then, why should the bar man invent such a story, assuming that it is a fabrication?"

"That's the question, that is exactly the question I'm asking myself," Paul answered cryptically.

"By the way, did you do as I asked last night?" Paul changed the subject.

Harrington looked slightly ruffled, but went along. "Yes, I've posted a man at the hospital," he said then paused. "Listen Mr Temple, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt as far as last night goes, but I'm answerable to people further up the ladder and they might not see eye to eye with me."

Paul nodded. "I appreciate that. For what it might be worth, I give you my word that I had nothing to do with what happened to Peter Baxter." Being regarded as a suspect in a crime was a novel experience for Paul Temple. He was squarely used to being on the right side of the law, even though his methods were sometimes rather unconventional. This made for an interesting change which would certainly result in fodder for his next novel, but he found himself unable to really appreciate the situation. On one had, his deepening involvement made for a compelling distraction from his worry over Steve, but on the other hand, he was increasingly convinced that he was up against one or more

pretty ruthless individuals as this latest episode well showed and he needed to stay save, if only for Steve's sake. She needed him, whether she liked it or not.

Paul was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed Detective Harrington being called away to answer a phone call. Paul lit a cigarette, leaning back in his chair. This latest development was certainly interesting. The fact that he'd been dragged into the case by virtue of a false witness statement meant that although he was still at the beginning of his investigation, someone had already taken notice of him. He thought back to the letter he'd received when he'd returned from the hospital. At the time, he'd taken it to mean that Steve had been an accidental victim, truly at the wrong place at the wrong time, as Xavier had put it.

But what if he had been wrong about that? What if Steve had been shot quite deliberately? Perhaps it hadn't been planned from the start, but he could well imagine that if for example, she had walked in an Winifred Morris being killed, or arrived shortly after, then the killer might have shot her too to eliminate any witnesses. After speaking to Baxter the night before, Paul had had a vague idea that

Steve might still be danger, but he hadn't really thought it through. He had acted on a hunch when he'd called Harrington. And good thing it was. Had Harrington already known about the attack on Baxter, he would have been much less likely to oblige him. It was funny, he always tended to dismiss hunches, joking that they were Steve's territory and now there he was. Steve would surely appreciate the irony, if it weren't for the amnesia of course.

It was at that moment, that Detective Harrington returned.

"Peter Baxter has regained consciousness. It seems that he's asking for you," Harrington reported somewhat uncomfortably.

"I assume you're heading to the hospital to take a statement from Baxter?" Paul asked.

Harrington nodded.

"Then would you mind terribly if I came with you? He is, after all, asking to see me."

oOo

Peter Baxter had admitted to Mercy Hospital the same as Steve, a coincidence which wasn't altogether to Paul's liking. He knew fully well that he couldn't avoid Steve forever, nor would it be fair to her, but he didn't want to rush her either. She was the one who was really suffering.

After they'd spoken to Baxter's doctor, who had informed them that the business man's condition was quite serious, Paul was shown to were Baxter was resting. The doctor had insisted that only one visitor be allowed at any one time and much to Paul's surprise, Harrington had suggested that he go first. Temple still couldn't quite make out the NYPD investigator. At times, he seemed to trust Temple whereas at other times, he appeared to regard him with the utmost suspicions. It was if he couldn't quite make up his mind what role Temple played in this case.

Baxter's face was barely recognizable, he'd been beaten so badly. At first Paul thought he was asleep and was about to quietly leave again when the man's eyes opened.

"Mr Temple, is that you?" he rasped.

"Yes, Baxter, it's me," Paul answered softly and bent down closer to the injured man.

"I need to tell you something," Baxter ground out with obvious effort. "Beverly...Kingston, she knows...tell you..." It was all Baxter managed to say before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Paul quietly left his bedside, pondering the words he'd just heard. Outside the ward, he met Harrington who'd been waiting there for him.

"Well?" the detective asked.

"Not much, I'm afraid. He managed to say Beverly Kingston's name, but that was about it before he passed out again," Temple reported.

"What do you suppose that mean, Mr Temple?" Harrington asked after a short pause.

"I don't know, I don't know, Detective." Paul admitted honestly.

"Well, I'm going to have another word with Mrs Kingston. Maybe she can shed some light on what he meant," Harrington decided. Before Paul could reply, he had left him behind

standing in then hospital hallway.

TBC